


Wedding crashers will be shot, survivors will be shot again

by tessykins



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: ae_match, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessykins/pseuds/tessykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is a wedding and a gunfight. Arthur’s getting married today, goddamn it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding crashers will be shot, survivors will be shot again

**Author's Note:**

> Vows lovingly ripped from _Spaceballs_.

Eames would really like to know why Arthur thought to bring an assault rifle to their wedding. Eames has a handgun and an extra clip but that’s just because he feels naked without. Arthur, on the other hand, is wielding an Mk-16, spraying bullets through the windows of the chapel. There are black-clad bodies littering the previously lovely lake-side view.

“I just wanted to get married,” Arthur snarls. He falls back to Eames’ position and ducks behind the overturned bench. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Of course not, darling.” Eames pats Arthur’s shoulder comfortingly. He’s momentarily distracted by the flash of the platinum band around his finger. Well, at least they managed to get the rings on before the shooting started.

A volley of bullets hits the wall behind them, filling the chapel with a fine mist of plaster dust.

The terrified justice of the peace makes a break for it from her hiding spot behind the podium. Arthur spins around and points a quivering finger at her. The woman freezes like a deer in the face of a well-armed headlight.

“You stay right there!” Arthur demands. “I am getting married today, goddamn it.”

Eames shares a helpless look with the justice and shrugs.

Arthur clambers to his feet and returns to the windows, his back pressed to what’s left of the walls. Arthur shoulders his rifle and resumes viciously mowing down wedding crashers. He has that crazy look in his eyes that Eames fell in love with. Eames moves to flank him, firing off careful shots, the grip of his gun slick with sweat but sure in his hands.

Arthur spares a moment to grin at him. “I knew there was a reason I was marrying you.”

Eames pouts, ducking away from the window to reload. “I thought it was for my good looks, amazing intellect and that thing I can do with my tongue.”

Arthur glares as he lays down a swathe of suppressing fire. Eames laughs and moves back into position.

“Okay, okay,” the justice yells from the other end of the chapel. “We’re going to do the extremely short version of this. Eames, do you?”

“I do,” Eames says and fires off a round.

“Arthur, do you?”

“I do,” says Arthur, through a hail of gunfire.

“Great!” the justice shouts. “I now pronounce you joined in marriage!” Then she screams and ducks.

The arbor explodes in a storm of bullets. Arthur and Eames flinch back against the wall; Eames throws an arm up to shield his face. Flowers blow out from the arch, a fountain of flaming blossoms. A slow rain of singed petals floats down around them.

Arthur immediately starts firing back indiscriminately. “I paid for _orchids_ , you bastards!”

The returning fire eventually dwindles, falling silent. Finally there’s just the whimpers of the traumatized justice and the crackle of burning flowers.

Eames goes to Arthur’s side. He pushes down the muzzle of the Mk-16. “I think you got them all, Arthur.”

Arthur is panting, covered in sweat and dust. His tuxedo’s ruined. Eames has never seen him more beautiful. “Come here, husband,” he says.

Arthur melts into his arms. It’s like their very first kiss; better, because now he knows Arthur. Knows the curve of his soft lips, the taste of his mouth, the way Arthur opens to him with a groan. But it’s new, too. He can feel the body-warm metal of Arthur’s ring when Arthur wraps a hand around the back of his neck. Arthur’s his and he is Arthur's.

Eames hears an unexpected crunch of glass, a metallic click from a few feet away. He doesn’t think; just shoots.

Arthur pulls away from him, watching with surprise as the last commando falls to the floor with a thud. “Showoff,” he says.

“You love it.” Eames grins.

“Shut up,” Arthur says and kisses his husband again.


End file.
